Grandpa Someone Stole Your Truck!

Growing up a city boy, county life was a foreign world to me. Yet I was fortunate enough to have grandparents who lived in rural America and parents who "shipped" the boys to the grandparents when they needed a break.

When I was 16 my grandfather was trusting enough to let me drive his truck to town to pick up some things for my grandmother at the grocery store by myself.

When I asked for the keys, he told me they were over the visor on the driver’s side. It was a great truck, except it was lemon yellow and had no seat belts. But that was ok because he only used it for hauling stuff and farm chores. Accordingly most the time we rode in his airconditioned and much larger International Travelall, which was considered the Chevy Suburban of the day.

I returned with his truck feeling proud and invincible an hour later and as I handed him the keys mentioned I noticed he was low on gas. He thanked me and asked that I would just put the keys back over the visor.

At this point my city street smarts kicked in and I felt obligated to caution him about car thieves and reminded him he did live just a few miles from the Federal Prison. He thanked but said the old truck would be fine. I did as he asked and even offered to wash his truck but he said he’d get to soon enough.

On the way to dinner Saturday afternoon we stepped outside of their house to find the truck gone. “Grandpa someone stole your truck” I said the second I stepped off the front porch. But he just smiled telling me "no one stole the truck, somebody just borrowed it".

Truth was, he had no idea who "borrowed" his truck or if we’d ever see it again.

We returned from dinner and the truck was still missing. I implored him to call the police, the sheriff and the FBI, but he insisted the truck would return. Still he had not a clue who had taken his truck. 

The next morning, much to my surprise, there was the yellow Ford 100 in the driveway, and it was freshly washed. Not only was it washed it also had a full tank of gas and yet he still had no idea who borrowed his truck, and that fact did not concern him in least.

Now forty-so-years later my grandfather is of course gone. Yet his trusting manner, and generosity live on in my own life. Even in a world that sometimes seems overloaded with crime and criminals I’m tempted to leave the keys in my truck just because.  

So, if you borrow it I’d appreciate it if you’d bring it back washed and full of gas. And, thank you whoever you are.